


The Fall of the Third Empire

by Valgus



Series: Words of Nations [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Post-Loss, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valgus/pseuds/Valgus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You changed me. </i>
</p>
<p>  <i>You made me a better person. </i></p>
<p>  <i>But then you left. </i></p>
<p>  <i>And please, tell me, how am I supposed to deal with that, Ludwig?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall of the Third Empire

Feliciano had dreamed the same scene again and again he no longer knew whether it was only dream or once a reality.  
  
Francis with wound and bandages, sitting on a bed, his face winced in pain.  
  
“Ah… sorry. The Holy Roman Empire is no more.”  
  
Feliciano stared at his so-called big brother, “Eh…?”  
  
“You should forget about him. You’ve already suffered enough, haven’t you?”  
  
The scene—the dream always ended there.  
  
And Feliciano would always wake up to an empty bed.  
  
*)*  
  
Feliciano prepared his breakfast alone. Lovino was away for tomato harvest season with Antonio.  
  
Feliciano’s eyes were on the counter, but his mind was somewhere else.  
  
Long, long time ago, there was a big, strong empire named Holy Roman Empire. Long story short, the empire didn’t last after a war, just like Grandpa Rome’s Roman Empire.  
  
Arthur had an empire too. By the beginning of twentieth century, he lost his empire. But at least he was still around, drinking tea and telling Alfred on how to behave properly.  
  
Long, long time ago, but not that long time ago, there was a big, strong empire named Third Reich. Long story short, the empire didn’t last after a war.  
  
So did the personification of the said country.  
  
*)*  
  
As the Second World War came to an end, Ludwig’s boss decided to commit suicide, leaving a broken nation and years of upcoming hardness and hatred.  
  
When the war eventually ended and treaty was signed, they split Ludwig’s nation to four, each piece for Arthur, Alfred, Francis, and Yao.  
  
Still scared of anger of the Allies, Feliciano didn’t go to Arthur, Alfred, or Yao, but to his big brother Francis just like a couple of centuries ago.  
  
Like a nightmare being played in real life, damaged and wounded Francis told him, “You’re looking for Germany? Ah… sorry. Germany is no more.”  
  
Feliciano didn’t realise he released an, “Eh…?”  
  
Francis brushed his golden locks from his forehead, sighing, “You should forget about him. You’ve already suffered enough, haven’t you?”  
  
Feliciano nodded, not looking the other nation in the eyes.  
  
He then went home without saying goodbye.  
  
*)*  
  
Years and years ago, Ludwig found him on that wooden crate on the wood. They somehow became allies, even though Feliciano was far from helpful. If anything, he only made Ludwig angry and tired.  
  
Years and years ago, long before Ludwig found him, Feliciano was a sad little maid of house belonged to Holy Roman Empire. They was what one would call friend, even though they seemed to never struck a chord.  
  
Little Feliciano helped Holy Roman Empire with drawing.  
  
For once, he felt like he was good on something.  
  
But then, war came.  
  
War always came.  
  
Holy Roman Empire had asked Feliciano to join him. He had kissed him. He had told him he was his favourite in the whole world. He had promised him to return after war.  
  
After Francis told him that Holy Roman Empire was no more, Feliciano could only hope that no one else would never have to suffer what he did.  
  
It was horrible.  
  
It was too horrible knowing that whatever you do, the most precious person for you is never going to come back.  
  
*)*  
  
Before lunch, Lovino had returned with two big basket of tomatoes. He chirped rather cheerfully—a little unlike his usual self—about how they were going to do the tomatoes after lunch. Some would be pasta sauce, some others would be kept in jar for later.  
  
Feliciano only nodded, smiling to his brother.  
  
Half an hour before lunch, Feliciano disappeared into his bedroom. Lovino said nothing. They both already knew that Feliciano had this routine, a routine that they both knew useless, but necessary at the same time.  
  
*)*  
  
Feliciano’s study was a little messy. But ‘messy’ was too light of a word to describe a pile of letters stuffing a certain corner. Every letter had no address on its envelope. Some were already battered by time and temperature.  
  
After all, they had grown for eighty years since the war was over.  
  
Feliciano sat on the chair, writing slowly yet forcefully on a sheet of his best paper. He changed to email for a couple of weeks before realising he wanted to write every single letter by his own hand.  
  
After the war, even through Alfred and Ivan’s cold one, through the Fall of Berlin’s wall, through everything, Ludwig didn’t come back. He was last seen on the rubble of destroyed Berlin.  
  
He didn’t come back from the war, just like another Empire in Feliciano’s life did.  
  
Francis, and pretty much everyone he knew, already told Feliciano that Feliciano should forget about Ludwig. Feliciano had suffered enough—enough with new wound on old scar left by Holy Roman Empire.  
  
But what if one wanted to suffer?  
  
Every single day for eighty years, Feliciano would sit there, writing and writing. He wrote about his friends. He wrote about his fears. He wrote about pasta. He wrote about cats and woman. He wrote some more about pasta. Sometimes, he wrote about sausage.  
  
Every single morning for eighty years, Feliciano woke up to his arm over his eyes, from dream of Francis telling him that the person means the most for him is no more.  
  
Every single morning for eighty years, Feliciano woke up to an empty bed, to a world where Ludwig was no more.  
  
And he would never, ever coming back.  
  
So Feliciano wrote. He wrote, wrote, and wrote.  
  
Perhaps one day, if Ludwig returned, he would have plenty to read. He was sure Ludwig would like to hear about Kiku’s anime and the Neapolitan pasta he created based on Feliciano’s dish.  
  
Perhaps one day, if Ludwig returned.  
  
That was why Feliciano wouldn’t forget about him.  
  
That was why he wrote Ludwig letters—the one that started to feel like diary, like heartbeat that would stop his life if he stopped working.  
  
_I won’t forget about him._  
  
_I’m okay. I’m not suffering at all._  
  
*)*

> _Ludwig,_  
>    
>  _There wasn’t a day when you didn’t light up my world. You made me smile and most of all you made me love myself. You looked at me like I’m the only thing you see. You smiled at me like I’m the only person who could give you a smile._  
>    
>  _You changed me._  
>    
>  _You made me a better person._  
>    
>  _But then you left._  
>    
>  _And please, tell me,_  
>    
>  _Tell me, Ludwig_  
>    
>  _How am I supposed to deal with that?_

**Author's Note:**

> The so-called quote on the end’s letter is originally belong to R.R. of missinyouiskillingme on Tumblr.
> 
> [Click here for deleted comic strip of Francis telling Feliciano that The Holy Roman Empire is no more.](http://www.hetarchive.net/scanlations/deleted.php?hrenomore)
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Comments are love.


End file.
